Perhaps
by XxTiernan's Lady LocksleyxX
Summary: A certain drunk is set on annoying Azelma to no end, and she is set on throwing it right back at him. Is it possible to annoy each other into loving one another? Perhaps. Rated T for language/immature Grantaires.
1. Meetings

_A/N: This is the only story I'll be working on for a while- yes, I've attempted to write multiple stories at once before. It really didn't work out. Of course, if you follow my FictionPress under the same pen name, I have another story posted that I will (hopefully) stay consistent with as well. Yes, the name of said story is a _huge_ Les Mis reference. "When Dreams are Made, Used, and Wasted"._

_As for this story, the influence comes off of Facebook roleplay. I roleplay with tons of Les Mis fans; as Les Mis characters, of course! I play an __É__ponine, Grantaire, (occasionally) a Valjean, and an Enjolras. Well, _kind_ of an Enjolras. Not really._

_Back to the story! This all takes place sometime before the revolution and all. So all my characters can live for a while! Before they all die in Act Two._

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><p>"GET YE'R LAZY BUMS UP, 'ZELMA! 'PONINE!"<p>

Azelma grumbled to herself, rolling over in bed. It couldn't be much past five in the morning, and not even their earliest customers had arrived. Still, the inn had to be in prime condition, according to her father.

Against her own will, she rose from her bed and walked across the room to fetch her apron. "Geddup, 'Ponine. Mam's callin' us."

Éponine mumbled something intelligible, not that it mattered to Azelma. Tying off the apron straps, she marched to her sister's bed, tore off the bed sheets, and sent Éponine tumbling to the floor, shaking her head and swearing under her breath.

With a smirk in her sister's direction, Azelma hurried down the steps to the main section of the inn. A large room with tables and chairs scattered about was before her. She headed behind the bar, rummaging around for a rag, then set to work scrubbing the counter.

"Good, good, my darling!" came the deep voice of her father. Azelma barely glanced up to recognize that he was there, then returned to scrubbing; knowing that if she didn't, she would be in for it.

Éponine was downstairs shortly after, arranging chairs and scrubbing the tables. Thénardier chuckled and shook his head, a sign that he was ultimately pleased.

"No slacking, my dears!" he nearly sang. "There'll be trouble!" And, as was his parting every morning, he dipped into a mocking bow and stalked off to God knows where.

Azelma shook her head. All her life, she had worked and worked in the inn for her father's personal gain. Years ago, when she was a child, the inn ran smoothly. But the money stopped coming, and it was harder to earn a living. His daughters had to enter the game of cheating, stealing, and lying. And, if the need arose, they would even stoop as low as to selling themselves. They would do anything for a franc or two.

It was a while before the inn was teeming with life. It was well past six thirty, and drunken men and their girls were filing in. Men planning to get themselves drunk came right alongside them. The entire lot of them made her sick to her stomach.

Azelma shrugged the feeling off, filling several mugs with brandy and setting them on the counter. Two scraggly looking men picked them up, throwing their payment on the table. She snatched up the precious money greedily, shoving it into their money box.

O_nly twenty hours to go…_

The morning, for the most part, was extremely uneventful. Save for the oh so coincidental thieveries she could only match to her father, the occasional stumble of a drunken man that had a near domino effect on the rest of them, and the never ending squeals of the men's ladies, patronizing their lads.

It was sickening.

Azelma rested her elbows on the bar counter. _Here comes another drunk._

Éponine rushed up to her before the man did, however. "I know 'im!" she whispered excitedly. "They call 'im Grantaire at the Café Musain."

"Hmm?" was her distant reply. "Well, what in the world is a student like 'im doing in a place like this?"

"He drinks, all the time."

"Well, he certainly came to the right place."

Before the student could approach the counter, Éponine scurried off, leaving room for him to stand or sit. Grantaire plopped onto one of the barstools, throwing a cheeky grin at Azelma.

"Give me some of your best," he said, pulling out a small pouch and, from there, a handful of coins. "I'll pay in advance for my fifty refills.

Azelma rolled her eyes, filling a mug with brandy and handing it to him. "There. And with the reputation you've got, people won't be surprised if you do get fifty refills, or more."

"My reputation, you say?" He chuckled, amused. "And how'd you know it?"

"My sister," was Azelma's tart reply. "She hangs round you lot all the time."

Grantaire's eyebrow shot up. "Eh? Who's your sister?"

"Éponine."

"Ah, Éponine! I know 'er! Fine little thing. Might've guessed you were related."

Azelma smirked, walking toward the back of the bar to fetch another pitcher of brandy. "Might ya?" She set the pitcher down on the counter, leaning close to Grantaire. The drunk- who, oddly enough, sure didn't _seem_ drunk- gave her a sly look and reached one hand toward her. She caught his wrist in her grip, amused.

"That kind of talk will get you nowhere, m'sieur."

For a moment, Grantaire seemed to lean closer to her. Her grip on his wrist slacked, and his hand slid right into hers, their fingers interlocking. Their lips were inches apart…

"Not a chance." Azelma smirked, shaking her head lightly in the little space she had. He seemed to pout for a moment, then grinned and released her. She took a step back, inhaling through her nose and shaking her head with more fervor.

"Try anything like that again with my father looking," she warned teasingly, "and heads will roll."

Grantaire laughed. "Pardon me, fine mademoiselle. But I do not know your name!"

She fought back a bout of laughter. "Azelma," she replied, ducking under the counter to pull out a few more mugs. "I don't see why you must know my name, though."

"Perhaps I'll have need of it in the future." Azelma quirked an eyebrow at him, as if to contradict him. "Alright. The very distant future it is."

"I told you, drunk. That'll get you nowhere."

"You and Apollo," he muttered. "He calls me winecask!"

"He ain't far off."

Grantaire placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "I'm sorely offended!"

"Who says you shouldn't be?" Azelma laughed. "Besides, who's Apollo?"

"'Nother student," was Grantaire's answer.

"And I'm guessing he ain't a drunk like you?"

"Once more, mademoiselle, I am offended."

"What makes you think I care this time?"

The student chuckled, leaning over the bar, his face incredibly close to Azelma's. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she wondered why on earth it did so.

"Just a feelin'."

"Well whatever you're feelin'," she teased, "do me a favor and get a room."

"With or without the charmin' lady?" The brandy was finally having its effect on him.

"Charming lady?" Azelma inquired.

"You, o' course!"

She laughed, stepping back from the counter, leaving behind a disappointed Grantaire. "Without, I'm afraid."

"Shame."

With a meaningful look at the so called winecask, Azelma smirked. She'd never be bored if Grantaire kept this up. And the winecask himself had every intention of doing so.


	2. Firsts

Azelma was beat. Nearly the entire day, save for fifteen minutes of lunch, she had kept the inn running with her sister. They had served the drinks, attended to the lonely men, cleaned up after their customers, and scrubbed the entire room until it shone.

It was well past midnight by now. But sleep refused to come over her. She could hear her father talking with the last of their customers, the fading clinks of brandy mugs, the doors creaking as people came and went.

Azelma tried to wake her older sister, but to no avail. Éponine was hardly a light sleeper.

With a sigh of annoyance, she slipped a thin, ragged coat around herself and trudged downstairs. The first thing she received was an odd look from her mother.

"Wot are ya doing up so late, 'Zelma?" the portly woman demanded.

Azelma shook her head. "Couldn't sleep."

"Eh." Her mother shrugged. "Make ya'self useful, then."

The girl pulled the coat tighter around her; the chilly wind that burst through the inn doors every now and then was more than unforgiving. She began piling empty mugs beneath the counter, when she heard footsteps. She leaped up to peer over the counter.

It was Grantaire. The drunken fool had come back for more. Of course, Azelma couldn't tell if he was sober or not at the moment. Both sides of him acted much the same.

"Not so happy to see me, are we?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows and shooting her a smirk.

She ducked back under the counter to pick up a mug. "Perhaps I am." She popped back up, leaning on the counter and returning his smug look equally. "Perhaps I'm not."

Grantaire shook his head, chuckling to himself. "I've yet to get a straight answer from you, Miss 'Zelma." He mimed pounding his fist on the table. "But, by God, I will! One day!"

Azelma laughed, then chewed on her lip to fight a smile. "I wouldn't count on it." With a glance at the rest of the room- which was surprisingly empty- she picked up a mug and looked at Grantaire. "Same as before?"

"Nah," he said, gesturing with one hand for her not to bother with the mug. "Not this time round. This certainly is a first for me."

Azelma cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do you plan on spending your time here, talking to a bartender's daughter?"

"I was hoping you'd be a little more fun than that."

Grantaire chuckled, noticing her fists clench after his statement. "Ah, I s'pose you're not the type." He leaned in a little, voice lowering. "But I must say, you're looking… striking."

"Remember when I said that kind of talk would get you nowhere? It still applies."

"I was hoping I could change that." Azelma rolled her eyes and backed away, leaning against the wall behind the counter. Grantaire grinned smugly. "But I see you're as stubborn as anyone."

"I'm takin' that as a compliment, you know," she retorted.

"Aye, a good thing!" He rounded the corner, walking behind the counter and toward her.

"You're not allowed back here," Azelma said flatly.

"Who's stoppin' me?"

She pushed his chest lightly, toward the other side of the bar. "I am."

Seizing the moment, he grabbed her hands. Azelma narrowed her eyes.

"Let go of me."

Grantaire shook his head. "Now isn't the time to lay low, 'Zelma," he teased. "And I must say you are… more than _ever_-"

"You've never met me before," she pointed out.

"Says who?" he questioned, lifting his eyebrows.

Azelma blinked. At that moment, the dim lighting in the inn was just behind Grantaire, casting a faint glow around him. His eyes twinkled with silent humor, lips twitching into a small, yet endearing smile. Again, she blinked. Her heart paused its beating once, then twice, and again and again.

She shook her head, recovering from her daze, which ultimately had been entertaining the drunk. "I do," she finally answered, tearing her hands from his and pushing him to the other side of the bar.

Grantaire laughed, seating himself at the other side of the bar. Azelma eyed him curiously as he patted the barstool beside him. "Care to join me, Mademoiselle?"

She glanced around. "You might want to buy somethin' first. If my father shows up-"

"Here." He pulled out a few francs. "Just one mug. This is surely a night of firsts."

"Oh?" Azelma picked up a mug, filling it with brandy.

"Which reminds me of another first I'd be more than ha-"

"Don't even _finish_ that sentence."

Azelma slid the mug across the bar and to the ever waiting Grantaire. In return, he gestured to the seat next to him again, this time a little less patiently. Rolling her eyes, she walked around the counter and sat next to him. "Can I help you?"

"Well…"

"Why did I even ask?"

She turned and faced the counter in annoyance, pretending that Grantaire wasn't there. He took a large gulp of brandy, set the mug down, and gave her a long, hard look. She was small, young. Must've been Éponine's little sister, though not by a wide margin.

"Something the matter?"

Grantaire snapped out of his trance, meeting gazes with a smug looking Azelma. He shook his head, taking another swig of brandy. "Not at all, Mam'zelle."

Azelma smirked, shaking her head. "Is there ever a time when you're not drinkin'?"

"Aye!" he was his teasingly curt reply. "I wasn't before you told me to buy something, and since…"

"If it wouldn't make my father angry, and if it wouldn't wake everyone up, I swear to God, I would slap you."

Grantaire laughed.

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><p><em>AN: Tell me if their relationship is moving too fast, and I'll slow it down! That, and review!_

_Stop-IBegYou: Does this answer your question? :3 I'm rather fond of Azelma/Grantaire myself, hence why this story exists._

_Once more, REVIEW! _


	3. Nice Save

When Azelma woke up, the first thing that came to mind was that she was in one of the spare rooms drunken lovers used when they came to the inn, looking for a lady of the night.

The second thing she wondered was how on earth she wound up here, and why she'd fallen asleep.

She glanced around quickly. Thank God, the room appeared to be empty, and she was fully clothed. That was surely a good sign. There were no bottles or mugs of brandy, or empty ones at that, which was just as promising. Nothing had happened the night before.

"In case you're worryin', I didn't pull anything last night."

Azelma's head snapped up. "Grantaire, I ought to-"

The winecask laughed. "I know, I know. Don't blame you for being careful." He walked across the room, sitting on the bed beside her. "You fell asleep at the bar, and I didn't want to bother 'Ponine or anyone upstairs."

"'Ponine's hardly a light sleeper," she countered, shaking her head. "Please tell me my father hasn't seen you in here. He'll expect money, he'll think we…"

"He hasn't seen me," Grantaire assured her. "Hell, if it makes you happy, I sneak out of a window when I leave! But…" His expression turned cheeky, nearly mocking. "I'd hate to let your father down, if that's what he'd think…"

Azelma slapped his arm. "Don't be getting any ideas, drunkard."

"I'm sorely offended, Mam'zelle."

"Good."

The floorboards in the hallway outside creaked. Both Azelma and Grantaire tensed, one fearing the worst, the other wondering who it was and what load of trouble he could get in, smirking at the thought. Eventually the footsteps passed.

Azelma let out a long sigh. "I would say thank you," she said curtly, "but now my father's going to be suspicious."

"So?" Grantaire shrugged. "Let him be."

Her eyes narrowed. "It ain't that easy, winecask."

"Don't _call_ me that!"

"I will if I want to!" she said defiantly. "My father only cares about the money. If he found us in here, we'd be dead."

"Unless…" Grantaire trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Shut up. And don't get any ideas."

"I already have several."

She slapped his arm. "I loathe you."

"It's a part of your charm," he said, scooting closer to her.

"Oh, it is?" she mocked, rolling her eyes. "And how charming am I, then?"

Grantaire grinned. "You would be surprised."

"Amazed!"

His eyes strayed for a moment, and it took all his willpower to focus on her face. _Look at her eyes, the top of her head, even her _nose_ for all it matters. But don't stare at her lips, and don't look any further down…_

Only a moment later, the footsteps returned, stopping in front of the door. Azelma's breath hitched. They were doomed.

"'Zelma?" Her heart refused to beat. It was her father.

The door began to open. Before Azelma could even consider speaking, or doing anything for that matter, Grantaire crushed his lips to hers, pushing her back onto the bed. Her eyes went wide with confusion and fear, her head spinning uncontrollably.

The door finally slid open and a bemused Thénardier stood in the doorway for mere moments, before backing out and slamming the door with a mumbled, "He better be payin'."

Azelma finally understood. Grantaire had saved the day and tricked her father, much to both her dismay and utter relief. As soon as the door closed, she attempted to push him away, but to no avail.

One of his hands fisted in her hair, pushing her closer and keeping her there. The other arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pressing her against him. Azelma tugged at his arm, and after her numerous and futile attempts, simply turned her head aside to pull her lips from his. It took Grantaire a moment to release her, and by then his lips had reached her ear.

"You're welcome."

She pushed him away, looking repulsed. "Who said I was thankin' you?" she demanded. "You… you…!"

"Got a little carried away," he finished. "But the initial ploy worked pretty well, eh?"

Azelma's eyes narrowed. "You're despicable."

If she were to be honest with herself, Azelma would've noticed the adrenaline racing through her, her heart's violent thuds echoing in her ear, her cheeks searing and bright red. As much as she hated to admit it, there was something about this forever intoxicated man that made her wonder what would've happened if she hadn't pushed him away.

For the time being, however, she was glad that she'd done so.

For a moment he merely sat there, staring at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement. Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"I'm curious," he said. "If your father is like you say he is, why haven't you… y'know…"

"Become a prostitute yet?"

Grantaire shrugged.

"Because," Azelma said slowly. "I've managed to avoid it so far. 'Ponine… hasn't been so lucky. She says it's horrible. I don't want it to happen to me. Selling myself every night…" She shuddered.

"Every night?" was his distant reply. She nodded.

"Almost. 'Ponine tries to keep away at night most of the time. That's why I usually work the late shift. No one's gonna make moves on the younger one. The less experienced one. And I'm trying to keep it that way."

Grantaire merely nodded. "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know. And at the looks of things, I may've ruined your virgin reputation. "

Azelma blinked, thoroughly shocked. "You're… sorry?"

"For being an idiot, yeah."

She punched his arm playfully, allowing the hints of a small smile. It would be all he got from her in a long time.

"It's part of your charm."

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><p><em>AN: Alright, is it just me, or are the chapters getting shorter and less entertaining? Same old, same old…_

_Yeah, not long for long. Dangerous revolutions are dangerous._

_Review!_


	4. New Worlds to be Won

_A/N: As I said. Dangerous revolutions are dangerous._

_Not much Zelma/Grantaire action in here. This is basically a filler chapter. Sorries!_

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><p>"Enjolras! <em>Enjolras<em>!"

The youngest of the students and the leader of the Les Amis, an angelic blond by the name of Enjolras, looked up from a map of France. Numerous marks had been made, in major areas of the town. Beside him, Lesgles and Joly continued plotting points as he spoke with the arriving men.

"I suspect you've got good news?"

"Have we ever!" Combeferre quipped happily. "The sections at Notre-Dame are prepared!"

"They're straining at the leash over in rue de Bac!" Feuilly threw in.

"Students, workers, any number of people!" added Courferyac. "There's a river on the run! Paris is coming to our side!"

Enjolras nodded. "The time is near, my friends!"

In the back of Café Musain, a surprisingly sober Grantaire snuck in, praying he wouldn't be caught late. They might just assume he had been in the back, being his drunk self. It wasn't anything new to them. They'd adjusted to the drunk's habits. But in reality, he'd handed over a good sum of francs to Azelma and snuck out of the inn, hoping not to be seen.

On his way to the crowd of students, he grabbed a bottle of wine and began gulping the sweet liquid greedily. Somehow, he couldn't help but connect Azelma to the wine. Sweet liquid. It had to be because she worked the bar every time he'd seen her.

But never once did she serve him wine. So where did the connection come from?

Grantaire could tell that he hadn't missed much. With a stroke of luck, he'd overheard the most important snippets of the meeting. He shook his thoughts of Azelma from his head; at least, to the back of his mind. For now, that was.

Apparently Grantaire wasn't the only Amis late to the Musain that day.

"Marius, you're late."

Marius was a in a daze. His eyes were gleaming oddly, and there was a newfound bounce to his step. The Amis shared odd looks amongst themselves, before Joly spoke up.

"What's wrong today?" he asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

With a humored smirk, Grantaire held up his bottle of wine. "Some wine and say what's going on!" A few of the students chuckled.

Marius, however, was unfazed. He sat at one of the numerous tables of the café, shaking his head. "A ghost you say? Perhaps you're right. She seemed just like a ghost to me." _She._ Ah!

"One minute there," he continued, waving his hand, "and she was gone!"

Grantaire laughed, swigging his wine and waltzing over to Marius. "I am agog!" he announced. "I am aghast! Marius, in love? Not once have we heard him _ooh_ and _aah_!"

"Watch it, winecask," he heard Enjolras mumble. The rest of the students, however, were laughing at his jibes.

Grantaire turned to Enjolras. "You talk of battles to be won, my dear Apollo! And here comes Don Juan! Has anyone seen an opera such as this?"

Enjolras threw the drunk a look, shaking his head to silence him. Grantaire obeyed. Anything for Apollo. Enjolras knew this, and he used it quite often. But something about Grantaire had changed since their last meeting. Not quite like Marius had changed, and yet, something close to it. The change, however, was much more subtle, to the point where Enjolras wondered if he was merely imagining it all.

With another shake of his head, he began to speak. "My friends, we must now decide who we are. Do we fight for the right to a night at the _opera_," here he threw another look at Grantaire, who grinned sheepishly- "now? There will be a price to pay, have you considered that? Is it simply a game for rich young boys? Is it all a joke, or is it something worth the risks involved? My friends, my friends! The very colours of the world are changing, day by day!"

The student ran across the room, pulling a red tablecloth from an unused table and raised it triumphantly. "Red! The blood of angry men! Men we fight to free from a life of despair! Men we will give a new world to, a new world that will rise like the sun!"

Again he darted across the room, this time kicking an old, unused furnace, blackened with years of use. "Black! The dark of ages past! The past we will put behind men who deserve freedom! Men who deserve a life, not this never ending night of despair! At last, this night will end!"

Marius stood, blinking. "Had you been there… had you felt what it was like… it was as if what was right seemed wrong, and what was wrong seemed right. You might know how it feels to be struck to the bone… in a moment of such breathless delight." The boy was love crazed, and everyone knew it.

Grantaire paused. He was sure he'd felt something when he'd kissed Azelma. Cover up for sneaking her into the room or not, it was a real kiss. Not to her, but definitely to him. He'd felt something alright, and a small part of him felt for Marius. Still, he couldn't help but tease the boy.

"Red!" the winecask called out.

"My very soul is on fire!" Marius exclaimed, oblivious to the mocking tone in Grantaire's voice.

"Black!"

"My world when she's not there!"

"Marius!" Enjolras interrupted. "You are no longer a child. I do not doubt you mean well, but now there is a higher call! Our lonely souls, our little lives, nothing counts at all!"

For a moment, all was silent. Marius nodded, his expression fierce.

"An enormous fortress of prejudices, lies, abuses, violence, iniquity, and darkness is still standing on the world with its towers of hatred," he said. His voice was beyond all seriousness, something that surprised the Amis. He'd been a love-struck schoolboy only moments ago! "It must be thrown down. This monstrous pile must be thrown down."

"Hear, hear!" Grantaire cried. "Red and black! Red and black! Those shall be our glorious colours!"

In all his life, Grantaire never would've imagined breaking the law in a way such as this. He never stood up for such life changing, soul searing causes. He'd never even dreamed of being a part of a revolution. It seemed petty to him. But of Apollo had his heart set on it, it must've been important.

_Revolution_. The word seemed to have two sides. One was exciting, inspiring, and ready to bring about the new world Enjolras would die to give to the poor. Another was dark, hopeless, and ready to consume them all in a death trap of a barricade.

Both would come about soon enough. But only one side would triumph.

Grantaire was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he hardly noticed young Gavroche storm into the café as the students went on about the oncoming revolution, telling Enjolras about the progress made in each point on the map.

"LISTEN, EVERYBODY!"

The café went silent. Gavroche was standing on a table, nearly panting. He glanced across the room, expression deathly grim.

"General Lamarque is dead."


	5. Love? Perhaps!

_A/N: SUPER FLUFF ALERT! SUPER FLUFF ALERT!_

_You have been sufficiently warned._

_Also: if you're just reading my story and haven't reviewed, could you do me a favor and review/PM me that you're following? Because so far, the only people reading have only read the first chapter! I only know if I'm writing this for nothing or not if you review! (Yes, it's an incentive. Review and I'll keep going! Don't review and I'll keep going anyways… but I'll make the updates slower! You have been sufficiently warned yet again!)_

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><p>"What's it like, 'Ponine?"<p>

"Hmm?"

Azelma flipped over on her bed, resting her chin on her fists. "To be in love. What's it like?"

Éponine sighed, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. "It… depends on who you're in love with. If they love you, too, it's the most wonderful feelin' in the world." She gave her little sister a curious look. "Why d'you ask?"

Azelma blushed. "No reason."

But Éponine knew better. "You're in love, aren't you?"

"Am not," the younger girl protested, burying her face in her pillow. "Besides, I barely know 'im. And he's been an idiot since I met him, so I don' think he's capable."

"Love at first sight, 'Zelma," Éponine reminded her. "Besides, all men are fools when they're in love."

"That's just it," Azelma sighed. "He's _always_ a fool."

"Who?"

She didn't respond. Éponine plopped herself onto her sister's bed, flipping her over.

"Who?" she repeated.

"You remember the one student tha' showed up the other day?"

Éponine's eyes lit up in amusement. "Grantaire?"

"… That's 'im."

Éponine giggled. "You love 'im, 'Zelma. I bet he loves you, too!"

"Oh?" Azelma snapped. "Just like Marius is so in love with you?"

Her sister faltered, staring at the floor. "No. You're luckier than I am, 'Zelma. He'll love you."

"Oh, please," the younger said disdainfully. "It's always Éponine this, Éponine that with mother and father. You got the luckier card, I'm sure."

"But with Marius…"

"For God's sakes, 'Ponine, forget the boy! He's obviously an idiot, too!"

At this both girls burst into giggles.

Then it hit her. Marius, Grantaire, and all the other students… Éponine recalled her earlier discoveries at Rue Plumet, and turned to her sister, eyes wide and devoid of all humor. "'Zelma, I almost forgot to tell you. I didn't think it would affect you, but… It's the students. They-"

Éponine was interrupted by a sharp _clink_ at the window. She hurried over, flinching as another rock ricocheted off the cheap glass.

"'Zelma, I think you're beloved Grantaire wants to see you."

Azelma rushed to the window, eyebrows scrunched together. "What's he doing here?"

"Beats me," Éponine mumbled. "Maybe he wants to tell you-"

Before she could finish, Azelma was opening the window. She peeked her head out, regarding Grantaire curiously. "What do you want?"

The student grinned. "To talk!"

"So talk."

Smirking up at her, Grantaire jumped and caught hold of a horizontal crossbeam outside the window, hoisting himself up. He hopped over to the ledge just below the window, which was just wide enough that he wasn't in jeopardy of falling, then leaned on the windowsill, grinning.

"Evenin', Miss 'Zelma. Miss 'Ponine."

Éponine glanced between the two. "I'm going downstairs to help mother."

Azelma gave her a worried look. "'Ponine, what about 'Parnasse? He's still fuming because of last time when you didn't let 'im…"

"Relax," she laughed lightly. "I can handle 'Parnasse, and any other drunken fool." Before her sister could protest any further, Éponine raced downstairs.

Azelma kneeled on the floor, leaning her elbows on the windowsill and sighing. "She worries me to no end…"

"She said she'll be alright," Grantaire assured her. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "You trust her, don't you?"

"'Course I do," she said, blushing faintly at his simple action. "But that doesn't mean I don't worry."

Grantaire nodded lightly, glancing into the room. "Mind if I join you inside? Unless, of course, you're hiding somethin' from me."

Azelma's blush deepened as she stood and beckoned him inside. With a coy smile he climbed through the window, hands folded behind his back. For the first time since he met her, he took the time to really take in her appearance.

Her hair was a dirty blond, and yet in the dim light it shone like gold. She had clear blue eyes, almost like ice, which fit when she glared at him. It was as if she was piercing his soul when she did.

Azelma was small, and frail. Her skin was pale, which contrasted well with her icy eyes. It wasn't blunt obvious that she was underfed, but her bones were more prominent than they would've been in another age, in another time, where the world cared for those who couldn't help themselves.

Another thing he hadn't noticed before was that she was actually a very quiet, very thoughtful girl. The reason he hadn't picked it up before was probably because of her reactions to his flirtations. He couldn't quit his teasing, though; it amused him. But when Éponine was around not long ago, she was concerned. Her voice was softer than he'd heard her speak toward him.

Strangely, it suited her well. She was generally quiet, yet bold when she thought it necessary. She was pretty, and would've been even more so in another time, when food wasn't scarce, when she didn't have to work all hours, when the glorious republic was established and…

The republic. Of course! How was he to tell her about the revolution? Had Éponine already told her?

Grantaire stepped toward, his arms falling to his sides. "Listen… there's somethin' I got to tell you."

Azelma's brow knit together. "What is it?" she asked. The concern in her voice had returned.

"… General Lamarque is dead," he said, lowering his voice and bending his head closer to hers. "The students and I are taking matters in our own hands. We're going to fight, tomorrow. Our barricade will be ready by tomorrow night."

Silence.

Azelma's head was spinning. Grantaire was going to fight. He was going to fight the police force, and if things got out of hand, the National Guard.

Grantaire was going to fight. Grantaire was going to _die_.

"No," she finally squeaked. "No, you can't. Grantaire, you'll only get yourself killed!"

He shook his head, resting one hand on the curve of her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "No, no. I'll be just fine, you watch. And I'll be back, just to annoy you even more."

She swallowed hard, chewing on her lip for a moment. "You don't annoy me."

"Oh?" Grantaire was genuinely shocked. The students could barely handle him, and yet this girl he taunted and flirted with endlessly didn't think he was annoying? Apollo would have to hear about this…

"No," she said quietly. "You… you're actually some of the best company I've had in a long time. Lots of men… they don't stick around. Come for an hour or two and they're gone the next morning. But you're different, or you wouldn't have climbed through my window to see me."

Grantaire couldn't help it. "Who says I'm here for you?"

"Oh, now you're just being a tease."

"You're right," he agreed with a smirk, bending ever closer to her. "But your reactions are priceless…"

"Gee, thanks."

"Mmm…" he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Y'welcome."

Azelma peered up at him. Her lips were curved down in a troubled grimace, her forehead wrinkling. "Be careful, if you really _have _to fight."

Grantaire nodded. The hand that wasn't cupping her face traveled down her arm, and upon reaching her hand, took it in his and laced their fingers together. "I'm not in a dying mood."

"Thank God for that," she nearly whispered.

His eyes locked with hers in a seemingly endless gaze. His hazel eyes were penetrated by her icy blue ones, which were gradually softening as her concern drifted in the moment. Slowly, Grantaire closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers.

Comparing the kiss they had shared that morning to the one they shared now, both strongly favored the latter. It was slower, sweeter. They were alone; no one was barging in on them. They had time to accustom themselves to one another.

Azelma's hands traveled to his shoulders, finally interlocking at the back of his head. She rose onto her tiptoes so he didn't have to bend over as much, and in doing so deepened the kiss.

The arm of his now free hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her fingers twisted into his hair, the inside of her leg brushing against his.

"Who's being a tease now?" he mumbled, pulling his lips away for a brief moment, to sneak a breath of air. Their lips met again in the same fashion, which was perfectly fine with them.

Unknown to both of them, Éponine had come upstairs for her apron, yet upon catching a glimpse of the kiss, fled back downstairs and claimed she could do without it.

Behind the bar, Éponine prayed. She prayed that the Amis would live, all of them, and anyone who decided to help them fight. She prayed that Marius would live, that Grantaire would return to Azelma after the battles were over. She prayed and hoped and dreamed and prayed again that they would be alright.

She merely hoped that her prayers would be answered. For hope was all she could allow herself. She wouldn't let disappointment in if they didn't survive.

_But they will,_ she forced herself to think. _They'll live. They'll live, they'll live, they'll live…_

_Please, God, let them live. _


	6. Hullo There

_A/N: OH MY GOD. _

_I'M SO SORRY I LEFT YOU ALL HANGING! I just kept getting distracted… (cough HADLEYFRASERINALITTLEKIDSSHOW! cough)._

… _I mean, who said that?_

_Anyways, remember how I rated this story T because of language/immature Grantaire? I hereby rate this chapter T-and-a-half for suggestiveness. (pft, like the entire story so far hasn't been a giant suggestive fluff ball.) This is just suggestive material in action. Don't like it? Don't read it._

_Thank __**Broadway and Books**__ for reminding me that this story is in existence, and needed to be updated. Badly. THANK YOU SO VERY, VERY MUCH. I LOVE YOU. xD_

_Forgive me for the shortness. I was very much uninspired (this is a filler chapter of sorts), and it was 3 in the morning when I finally finished writing it. Oi. _

_Review?_

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><p>Another two things were amiss when Azelma woke up. For one, Éponine was nowhere to be found. Her bed was made, for once, and her skirt was in a messy heap on top of it.<p>

For another, she was in Grantaire's embrace. Not that she was complaining.

"Morning, beautiful." His lips pressed against her temple lightly, earning a smile from her. She wasn't exactly buying the 'beautiful' part, but she let the thought pass.

Then it hit her. The revolution. She looked up at him, propping her chin on his shoulder. Her smile dissolved instantaneously. "You have to leave, don't you?" she murmured. Her arms slid around his neck, and without realizing it, her fingers began twirling around the cravat he wore, loosening it.

Grantaire nodded solemnly, pressing his lips together. "I… yeah, I do." As expected, his serious demeanor faded quickly, and a smirk took its place. "Of course, should you keep all this up, I might not be able to."

"Keep all… _what_ up?" she questioned innocently. It took a moment for her to realize that she'd been messing with his cravat. She pulled her arms away quickly, causing Grantaire to laugh quietly.

"I'm not complaining," he teased, brushing his lips against hers. His arms tightened around her waist, causing Azelma to bite back a slight whimper. Her arms curled back around his neck, her hands running through his hair to bring him closer.

Grantaire grunted softly, pulling her up against him. He rolled to one side just a little, to the point where half of him hovered over her. He broke his lips from hers and smirked.

"Hullo."

She blinked, shaking her head. "Get off.

He chuckled, propping himself up with one hand on the mattress beside her. His other arm looped around her waist. "I think I'll pass." He brushed his lips against her jaw, trailing down the side. The smirk never left his face.

"Thought you had a revolution to fight," she managed to mutter, squirming a little in a pathetic attempt to get away. In truth, she wouldn't really have minded if he carried on.

Grantaire hadn't noticed this, but nevertheless, he was unfazed. He kissed back along her jaw, working toward her mouth, then paused and trailed light kisses down her neck. His hand teased beneath her shirt, tracing patterns into her skin. Azelma fought to keep still, yet couldn't help responding to his every touch. She tilted her head to the side, still writhing and wishing she could restrain herself from acting this way.

He grinned inwardly, nipping lightly at the skin of her neck and earning a muffled squeak from her. She grabbed the arm that was propping him up, meaning to push him away. Seeing this, Grantaire flipped them both, both arms circling her waist and lifting her a little so that, whilst flipping, she ended up laying on top of him.

"Hullo again."

She narrowed her eyes, sliding off of him and sitting up. "You're awful."

"You love me."

"If I didn't, God knows how much trouble you'd be in."

* * *

><p>Three hours. Grantaire had been gone for three hours, and Azelma already was wishing she'd kept him occupied. He could very well die at that barricade, and they both knew it. Why'd she let him go?<p>

It wasn't like she'd been given much of a choice, however. He'd said that he was going to fight with his friends, and that he'd try not to die. Well, he couldn't die now. Or so would she.

Would she? Azelma wasn't sure. She knew that he made up a good deal of her happiness now, but would she die without him? Or was she just being silly, and exaggerating the situation?

All the same, she wished she'd kept him there. Though God knows what would've happened if she had. Would he have ended up bedding her? Most likely. Would either of them have regretted it? Probably not.

Azelma sighed, folding her arms against the bar. Then it hit her. Éponine. She'd been missing that morning, and had yet to turn up. Most errands didn't take that long. And why was her skirt left behind?

She fled upstairs in fear, throwing open a chest of 'clothes'. Éponine's coat and an old pair of trousers were missing. Azelma's eyes widened. Éponine had dressed as a boy for the day. But what for?

The truth she most definitely didn't want to hear about her sister slapped her in the face several times, and by then, she'd already dug up an old cap, trousers, boots, and a coat much too big for her. Azelma knew where Éponine was headed.

And if her own sister was going to the barricade for her supposed beloved, so was she.


	7. The Lark

_A/N: Another update that took decades. Sorries!_

_WHO WENT AND SAW HARRY POTTER 7 PART 2? I went dressed as a Ravenclaw, my sister was a Hufflepuff. It was AMAZING, to those who haven't seen it. Yes, I am a huge Harry Potter fan. Woo!_

_Anyways, we're nearing the revolution here! Major plotty-epicness goin' down!_

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><p>It took Azelma a while to find out where the barricades where, and then, where Grantaire had gone. A kindly old man who mistook her for a boy had told her she might check the Rue de Vilette for that certain group of schoolboys, then directed her across a few blocks and down a quiet road a ways. She thanked the man gratefully, noting a hint of curiosity in his eyes and stumbling away as quickly as she could. Her combat boots had brushed against the coat, but the old man caught her before she could fall, causing her to jerk backward. Her hat fell off, letting her hair spill out across her shoulders.<p>

"M'sieur, please. I have to be there."

The old man sighed, bending over to pick up the hat and, to her surprise, handed it to her. "I'm not stopping you, mademoiselle. Though I dearly wish I could." He glanced up and down the street a few times, then smiled at her. "Would you like to come inside for a while? I'm sure they're merely preparing now. You won't miss much."

Azelma smiled lightly. "I-I… I'd love to, m'sieur."

The man escorted her inside, approaching a servant he referred to as Toussaint and informing her of their guest. "She will be staying for the afternoon at most," he told her. Toussaint stuttered something in response, then shuffled into the kitchen.

As the man led her further into the house, he turned and spoke directly to her. "I know the students at the barricade wouldn't appreciate a girl present, though I would offer you a dress. I do have more suitable boy's clothing, should you want it."

Azelma eyed him curiously, responding with a, "What is your name, m'sieur?"

The man smiled lightly, his eyes twinkling. "Fauchelevent. I am Ultime Fauchelevent. And you, mademoiselle?"

She returned his smile, though a little suspiciously. "Azelma Thénardier," she replied.

His eyes widened a fraction. "Thénardier?" he asked. Azelma nodded. "I know you. You were but a small child when we last met. But you know my daughter. Cosette."

She blinked. Cosette? The little girl who'd been taken away by her father when Azelma was but six years old was related to this kind old man? She'd always wished for a better father, one who really, truly loved her, and when Cosette was given one, she'd wondered if she could have another father just like him.

"Is she here?" Azelma asked, voice growing small.

Fauchelevent nodded. "In the sitting room. You may speak with her if you wish. However, I would like to get you a change of clothing, and perhaps a bath. No need," he said, raising a hand and smiling in amusement as she tried to protest. "Toussaint is preparing to draw you a bath. She'll fetch a clean outfit for you, and perhaps you shall dine with us?"

"Why are you doing all this for me?" she questioned, scrunching her brow together.

Fauchelevent grinned. "Cosette has told me about you and your sister, Éponine. You were only following your mother's and father's examples when you treated her badly. I hold nothing against you. And as I know you, little as it is that I do, naturally I want to help you in any way I can."

She bit her lip, then after a moment's hesitation, nodded. "Merci, m'sieur."

"Anytime." was his reply.

An hour later, Azelma was cleaner than she'd been in years. Her hair was in wet clumps down her back, which Toussaint promptly combed. She was offered a clean dress, but Azelma merely responded with the fact that she was indeed dressing like a boy again.

On the guest bed of the Fauchelevent household was an old pair of trousers, a shirt a few sizes too big for her, a waistcoat, a coat, and boots. Her old cap was among the array as well. She began pulling on the clothing, and for some reason her mind drifted to Grantaire.

"_Can I help you?"_

"_Well…"_

"_Why did I even ask?"_

She snickered lightly, letting her mind drift further.

"_Don't be getting any ideas, drunkard."_

"_I'm sorely offended, mademoiselle."_

"_Good."_

Her fingers fumbled to button the shirt, and to herself she let out a giggle. Grantaire was a drunken fool if she'd ever met one. He couldn't give up ale to save his life, his flirtation skills had yet to improve, and there wasn't one instance she could think of where she hadn't been thoroughly annoyed with him.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

><p>Once dressed, she greeted Fauchelevent in the sitting room. He nodded silently, grinning. "You clean up well, Mademoiselle Thénardier."<p>

From her place sitting in an armchair across from her father, Cosette looked up. Azelma bit back a quiet gasp at the girl's appearance.

If anything, Cosette had improved. She had shimmering golden hair that ran down her back, blue eyes that sparkled from the light streaming through the sitting room window. Her skin was smooth and perfect, like porcelain. This was not the abused, long forgotten Lark she'd grown up with.

"Azelma?" she inquired, eyes widening. She set aside the embroidery she'd been working on and gaped up at the Thénardier. "Is it really?"

"Good to see you, too," Azelma mumbled.

Fauchelevent stood, gesturing at the couch he'd been sitting on a moment ago. "Please, have a seat." He winked, smiling at her. "I'll leave you two to your gossip." And in that manner, he left the room.

Azelma chewed on her lip, then sat across from Cosette, on the couch. The Lark beamed at her. "I've not seen you in years!"

"I've seen you about," Azelma said, wringing her hands and hoping the other girl wouldn't notice. "Rich father, eh? You turned out pretty alright."

Cosette laughed lightly. "It's strange, as if our situations have been flipped!"

"I guess they have!" she replied, laughing halfheartedly. Never had she thought she'd trade places with Cosette. But she was the one suffering now, not her. She was the one abused and alone.

Of course, Grantaire had changed that for the most part. She wasn't sure if she'd have to continue working for her father, but for once, she hoped she wouldn't. For too long she'd been the more reserved, obedient child. She'd grown up believing that her father was in the right, that he knew what he was doing and it benefited them all. But in truth, it only worked for himself, and she and her sister were on the receiving end of the backlash of his schemes. Prostitution, working all hours, often in jail, this was their life since the inn's profits fell dramatically. Since Cosette left, that was. Grantaire had brought all this to light, and for once, she believed that she was worth something, that she deserved a life better than the one she knew now.

Snapping from her thoughts, Azelma continued. "What's it like, living in such a big ol' house?"

"Lonely," Cosette sighed. "I really only have Papa and Toussaint for company these days. And with Marius off at the barricades…"

Azelma's eyes shot up from their place fixated on the bookshelf next to her. "Pontmercy? You know him?"

Cosette nodded. "We… we're in love."

Azelma gaped, her breathing now shallow. Marius, the schoolboy that Éponine loved, was with the Lark. Marius, who her sister had pined for endlessly, belonged to another. It all fit. She now knew why her sister was going straight to the barricades. It was typical, cynical Éponine.

If she couldn't have Marius, no one could. She'd die with him if she had to.

"I have to go," Azelma said suddenly, standing up. Cosette frowned, brow scrunching together.

"Is everything alright?"

"No," was her truthful answer. "No, it's really not."

Azelma rushed out of the room, heading straight for the front door. Fauchelevent, starting down the stairs, noted this and rushed toward her. "What is it, child?"

"My sister. She's gone mad."

"Tell me what's happened."

With a deep breath, Azelma explained everything. How Éponine met Marius and got along with him so well. How they talked often, and were best friends for the longest time. How her sister had grown to love him as more than just a brother figure. How she must've been heartbroken when he and the Lark- well, Cosette- met and fell in love, which was an entirely different story. How she'd reasoned that she'd do anything to be with him, if only for a fleeting moment.

"I'm coming with you," Fauchelevent said. "While you were changing, I do believe it was your sister that delivered a very important letter, from Marius to Cosette. I only now realize it was her; she was dressed as a boy as well. We must hurry if we're to stop her from going back."

And hurry they did, off in the direction of the Rue de Vilette. But would hurrying be enough to save a life, especially one so desperate and alone?

Azelma didn't quite want to answer that question.


	8. Epiphany

_A/N: Glad this update didn't take as long. :P Cookies to whoever catches the itty-bitty Pirate Queen reference!_

* * *

><p>It was at least ten minutes time before the barricade itself came into view. Mounds of wooden furniture made it up, and the strategic placement made it perfectly defensive. Near it was an empty tavern, which Azelma recognized as the Corinth.<p>

They'd only been there a mere second, and a gun had already fired.

Fauchelevent grabbed her arm, tugging them both flat against the side of a building. They waited against it with baited breath, scarcely moving. Azelma turned her head, watching a boy clutch his shoulder and stumble over the barricade.

Wait a second…

"Éponine!" she would've screamed, but Fauchelevent clapped a hand over her mouth and muffled her voice.

"Go if you must," he told her. "But be careful. Extremely so. No doubt those police won't be terribly kind to you as they were your sister."

Azelma nodded violently, running off to the barricade and tugging the hat tighter onto her head. She glanced back at Fauchelevent, who was watching her with an expression of alarm on his face. He signaled for her to come back, but she froze.

One of the policemen was pointing a rifle at her.

"Stay away from there, boy!"

Azelma didn't move. Her eyes were wide and glued onto the rifle. The policeman chuckled, shaking his head and pointing it at her. "Go."

"No!" she yelled, her voice high pitched with fear, but she ignored it. "Vive la republique! _Vive la France!_"

A gunshot was fired. Fauchelevent cried out, Azelma braced for impact… and an unseen figure jumped at her, knocking them both out of the way. Both fell to the ground directly in front of the barricade. In doing so, the cap she wore was knocked off, and rolled away.

On top of Azelma, pinning her down, was Grantaire.

"Azelma, in the name of God-!" he hissed, rolling off of her. He stood and offered his hand to her, and she took it, standing as well. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"My sister," she panted. "Eponine just climbed the barricade, she was shot!"

Grantaire gaped. "That was her?"

Before another shot could be fired, Grantaire grabbed her arm and pulled her along, back over the barricade. Barrels and tables shielded them from rifles, to her utter relief. Why hadn't her sister gone this way?

Grantaire climbed down the other side, and Azelma followed close behind. Greeting her were dozens of schoolboys, half of whom she recognized. Over in a corner was Éponine's Marius, head resting on his knees. Everyone was dead silent. It was a church without a congregation.

"Where is she?" Azelma demanded. "Éponine, where is she?"

One of the students, whom she would later identify as Enjolras, turned to her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry."

Azelma's heart now pounded violently. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

Enjolras looked over to a few students carrying a boy's body into the Corinth. She followed his gaze… straight to Éponine.

"No." Her voice was flooded with anger and despair, all the hurt crushing her in one blow, at full force. Her sister, the strong, brave Éponine, was dead. Dead and gone. "No!"

Her eyes darted around, finally landing on Marius. "You. Pontmercy!" He didn't respond.

"_Look at me, Pontmercy!_"

"Azelma-" Grantaire warned. But she ignored him, her chest heaving in her rage.

"This is _your_ fault! If you hadn't been a blind _idiot_, my sister-… m-my sister!..." Her voice shook with unshed tears, sobs held back. Grantaire wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. She buried her face in his chest, completely oblivious, and honestly wouldn't have cared who saw her cry now. Éponine was dead. Her stronger, braver older sister, the wise one, who always knew what to do… was dead.

She clung to him for dear life, sobbing into his chest. Grantaire glanced around at the students, then fixed his gaze on the ground. He stroked her hair with one hand, keeping his other arm tight around her.

It was a strange feeling, comforting her. It set him at unease. Azelma was strong, this he knew well. He'd never seen her like this before. She'd broken down because of her sister's death, and now relied on him for strength. He shushed her, rocking them back and forth. For some odd reason- odd because moments before, her weakness had him uneasy- it felt good to be needed. To be relied on.

"There's a man coming this way!"

Azelma shifted in Grantaire's embrace, turning her head and spotting Fauchelevent, who must've climbed the barricade as well. Their eyes met for a moment, and in it, he bowed his head. Somehow he knew. He must've heard her screaming at Marius. Looking back, she felt ashamed at herself. It hadn't been his fault. Éponine flirted, but in all, kept her emotions to herself just as much as Azelma did. She stuck it somewhere in her mind to apologize later.

"I come here as a volunteer," he assured the students. "Mademoiselle Thénardier can vouch this."

Azelma nodded. The students glanced around at each other, and then all looked expectantly at Enjolras. With a sigh, their leader picked up a bayonet and handed it to Fauchelevent. "Welcome to our humble barricade, monsieur." The students cheered, clapping the old man on the back. Even Azelma managed a smile through her tears.

It was then that she noticed Grantaire's arms still around her. Any other time she would've slinked away, but she'd been clinging to him for dear life since her sister… no. She wouldn't think of it, she couldn't. She looked up at him, and he returned the gaze with a wan smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

Grantaire shook his head, kissing her forehead. "T'was nothing."

One of the sentries turned to the congregation of students. "They're getting ready to attack!"

Enjolras grabbed the nearest bayonet, climbing atop an empty barrel. "Where do we stand?"

"Platoon of sappers advancing towards the barricade!" Feuilly called from atop the mass of wooden furniture and alike. "Troops behind them, fifty men or more!"

Grantaire jumped, grabbing Azelma's arm and sprinting towards the Corinth. Azelma followed gladly.

One of the students- Courfeyrac by name- watched them go. He nearly stopped Grantaire, telling him that she'd be perfectly safe in the tavern by herself, but faltered. Azelma needed him. He'd seen how she reacted to her sister's death; it tore her apart. Though from what he'd heard about the sisters, they weren't extremely close. Perhaps there was more to the Thénardier girls' situation than he saw. In any event, he chose not to stop the drunk, and instead retrieved his own bayonet and positioned it to shoot.

He'd rat out the alcoholic about running when the dreary atmosphere was gone.

* * *

><p>It took Grantaire a moment to find a safe place in the tavern to hide, choosing one of the empty bedrooms in the very back, farthest from the fighting. He couldn't risk a bullet flying through a front window, he couldn't risk Azelma. He shut the door behind them, then turned to look at her.<p>

Azelma was in a sorry state. Her eyes were red from crying, tear tracks covered her cheeks. She slid out of the coat, tossing it aside, and Grantaire fought to keep his eyes on hers. The waistcoat seemed to accentuate her curves, which was odd, seeing how it was in fact a waistcoat, men's clothing.

"Grantaire?"

He snapped out of the gutter and back to Azelma, brow furrowed in concern. He stepped toward her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Mhmm?"

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his, sliding her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss immediately, cupping her face with both hands and stroking her tears away with his thumbs. His hands slid down her sides and then around her waist, pulling her close.

Azelma shivered. She'd never wanted to be with someone like she did Grantaire. All her life she'd feared prostitution. Now that Éponine was gone, would she take her sister's place and earn money for her father?

She went back to her thought process at Cosette's house. Grantaire had changed her view on her life. She didn't have to- nor should she- work and earn money for her father's gains. For what it was worth, she could tell him to go to Hell and run off with the drunkard. But the prospects of it weren't likely. Her father, and the Patron-Minette, had ways. She would be found and forced into whatever job Thénardier decided to give her.

If she was losing her virginity, she didn't want her first to be with some sleazy old man, or a violent drunkard. She wanted Grantaire, and what time did they have other than now?

As if to let him know what her intentions were, she gripped his shirt with both hands and tugged him closer, which only allowed her to secretly undo the first few buttons. Grantaire caught this and pulled his lips from hers, taking a deep breath. "You sure you w-"

Before he could finish, she crushed her lips back to his. She could feel him smirk against her lips as he slowly lowered her to the bed- thank God he'd chosen to seclude themselves in a bedroom.

The last though he had of anything other than Azelma was, _If anyone even considers checking in here…_


End file.
